Unexpected
by Zoe37
Summary: Clary has always known that she doesn't get along with her mother, Jocelyn. She thought that she knew why, as well. But will an unplanned tragedy, and stranger, in her life bring everything to light? A Clace story.
1. Chapter 1

Beeping trucks. All I here are beeping trucks.

My alarm clocks smirks at me mockingly, flashing to all the world the fateful digits that define my life. I go to school, work, art class, and orbit around my daily life, all because of a bossy little plastic machine that says I have to. Wow, I'm pathetic.

"Shut up," I grumble irritably, rolling back into the warm sheets that envelope me like a big, warm, hairy, grizzly bear. That's what beds are. Big, warm, hairy grizzly bears. Who said my metaphors weren't top notch? I was getting myself re-acquainted quite well when my door burst open, releasing a surprising draft of frosty, cold air.

"Rise and shine, little sis!" Jon sings cheerfully as he waltzes inside like the world's first cherubic saint. If it weren't for the angelic smile he had pasted onto his face, I would have sworn that I saw a devilish glint in his eye.

"Go 'way," I mumble, still drowsy and in the hazy dreamland between waking and sleeping.

"Oh, but where's the fun in that, Clary?" he queries, ruffling my hair. I catch his hand between my thumb and forefinger, deadly serious.

"If you ever ruffle my hair again, you die."

"I'll go get the shovel to dig my grave."

"No, I thought more along the lines of throwing you into the woods, off of a highway somewhere."

"Are you serious? Clary, everybody knows that when you commit fratricide, you dump the body off of the bridge and into the river. Gosh, you're such an amateur."

"I guess you'll just have to teach me then."

Jonathan sighs dramatically, painstakingly running his hands through his hair, and adopting a quirky Old-English accent along the way.

"I _suppose _that I could find it in my generous heart to tutor another young mind, also on the rewarding path to juvenile detention. Although my fees are not cheap, for family, I give a 10% discount."

"You're a regular Mother Teresa."

"It is trying work, yes, but I just find it so eye-opening."

I cracked open an eyelid, watching his slow smile. "You're just trying to wake me up, aren't you?"

"Ding, ding, ding, we have a winner."

He kneeled down next to me, eyes suddenly serious, debated with himself. Finally, he took the plunge. "Actually, Mom asked me to do the honours this morning. Clary, I don't think she can even take this anymore. She's starting to ask other people, and you know how much she hates reaching out...to _anybody." _

This was true. Marrying young apparently worked out for some people, but not for my mother, Jocelyn Fray. At 19, she had married my father, Valentine Morgenstern, her high school sweetheart. They enjoyed three years of marital bliss, and two children, until the union was deemed toxic for both of them. Valentine left without a trace, leaving my mother with two infants clinging to her legs and a handful of crushed dreams. The reason was clear: apparently my father's affections weren't enough for her, and she had resorted to another man's company.

After the divorce, my grandparents blamed the divorce on my mother. They had both greatly respected Valentine, envisioning a handful more of tiny ankle-biters, birthday and anniversary candles, laughs, smiles, and a couple with their arms around each other, loving each other until the end of time. At first they thought that this was but a momentary setback, a small error, a blip in an otherwise perfect record. When it became apparent that Jocelyn didn't want Valentine back, though, and that Valentine was not coming back, they disowned their daughter, claiming that their family did not condone "those kind of mistakes." Left alone, Jocelyn had no choice but to make a life for herself, relying on nobody.

I suppose I should feel sorry for her, and in my own way, I do. I respect what she's done and who she is; how she has pulled through. Like my grandparents, though, I don't condone those decisions. How can I, when they are the ones that left me to grow up fatherless? If I agree with her, then I'm agreeing to what she's done, to unfaithfulness, to cheating. While she seems to have done just fine, I am still haunted by the phrase "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." I cannot, _will not _be like her, so I hide myself away, safe and sound, where her voice doesn't reach me, and where her influence cannot taint me. There was a time where she may have reached out, but that is not now. Hey, I'm surprised that she held out as long as she did.

I'm jerked back into reality by my brother's voice. "Can't you just talk to her, Clary? Can't you just try?"

I'm surprised by how calm and still my voice sounds. It sounds impenetrable and unbreakable. It sounds devoid of emotion. At least my voice sounds how I wish that I could feel. The one word breaks through the stillness.

"No."


	2. An Uninvited Stranger

**Author's Note: A great big hello to everyone who reads this! Honestly, thank you so much for taking the time! I really appreciate it. And also, I know that Clace has not been mentioned yet, and I am sorry for that. I just needed to introduce everything first. Read on for that relationship...:)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mortal Instruments, or the characters in it, in any way, shape, or form. That honour goes to the brilliant Cassandra Clare. I do, however, own the plot in this story. **

After the drama of the morning, Jon offers me a ride to school. I suspect that he feels guilty for opening up the Pandora's box of my relationship issues with my mother. I don't mind, though. I'll take any excuse to avoid the stinky yellow hunk of human sweat that usually transports me there.

Today, however, the weather may have made today's ride more bearable. It was gorgeous outside, September's autumn hues offering the perfect canopy for stray sparks of sunlight. Warm rays streamed down all around me, making me smile the way only perfect weather could. I laughed up at the billowy clouds painted onto a soft baby blue sky. And so, as we pulled up to Clave High School, for the first time in a while, I was grinning.

"Don't let anyone strangle you to death." So comforting, Jon.

Closing the car door behind me, I walked up onto the school campus, keeping my eyes to myself. While everyone else flitted from group to group, chatting and laughing, I trained my gaze to the floor, avoiding the occasional face that would turn questioningly to me. I never understood everyone's incessant need to be noticed. If you have at least one friend, someone to listen to you and care about you, then you have what you need. Fortunately, I did. That honour went to my best friend in the world, Simon Lewis.

While Simon was a geeky, shy introvert, I loved him. We had first bonded over a shared pack of Skittles in first grade, and had been going strong ever since. Simon was my other half, the one who knew me almost as well as I knew myself. He was the person who could tell what I was feeling by the slightest twitch of my face, or the smallest exhale of breath. When you have a friend like that, you just want to hold on tight and never let go.

Simon was the last thing on my mind, though, as I paced purposefully across the school campus. The noise in the hallways was killing me; tiny, floating whispers accumulating into a collective roar that grated painfully against my ears. I needed space and quiet. I desperately craved the meditative peace that only true solitude could bring. I knew just the place from years of escaping torturous classroom lectures with excuses of small bladders and feigned headaches. As I rounded the corner, a small, relaxed smile settled itself onto my lips.

The school garden was magnificent, a mass collection of brilliant shades and hues. Hundreds, maybe thousands of beautiful blooms opened their petals up to the sun's warm rays as if attempting to touch the sky. In the miniscule spaces that the flowers hadn't managed to conquer, tiny patches of grass fought for dominance, green despite the lack of room from the jealous buds. Ivy covered the walls from head to toe, the vines intertwining themselves into every nook and cranny imaginable. It was beautiful; one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.

Here, I could finally let my guard down. For once, no one was watching me. I sank down to the ground, back against the wall, exhaling in pure relief. My head fell to my knees, and then the tears started to come, like a tide rushing in to the shore. I hadn't cried in so long, hadn't even allowed myself, that I didn't even question the timing of it all. I was so fed up, so exhausted, from pretending like my mom's stony silence hadn't even affected me at all, that for this one stolen moment, I just let myself cry shamelessly and heartrendingly. The tears streamed down in rivulets, soaking my cheeks and forming their own tiny little rivers. As the rivers dripped off on to the ground, the soft patters soothed me, just like raindrops on top of a roof, lulling you to sleep as you lay in your bed.

"I would say that you look ravishing, and that no one will even notice the red, puffy eyes, but then I'd be lying."

I spun around, cranky and embarrassed, to see one of the most attractive guys I had ever seen staring down at me. His hair hung down in waves, gently curling and golden around his face, which did nothing for my concentration. His skin had a golden sheen to it, just like a master artist had swiped a metallic paint lightly over the entirety of his skin. The most breathtaking thing about him, though, were his gorgeous eyes. Pure gold amber eyes were trained on me, framed by long lashes that girls would die for, and boys are miraculously gifted with. This was a face that was kind, was beautiful, and would make me do anything. A girl would kill just for a look from those immaculate eyes.

That was when I noticed the self-satisfied and knowing smirk on his face.

"I would say that most people who insult others usually do because they are insecure or unhappy with themselves. Which is to say that they're know-it-all, pompous jerks."

The cocky smile that he had plastered onto his face faltered, just a little bit. I felt a small tug of pleased victory inside me.

He sauntered over to sit beside me. "What would you say that my issue is, then?"

I took a deep breath, trying my best not to look at him as I replied. "Oh, you know, the usual. Daddy issues, Mommy issues, rebellion, fear of the world, angst, fear of rejection, homicide, patricide, fratricide-"

"Whoa, wait. What? You think I'm a murderer?" he asked, desperately attempting to keep the corners of his mouth from tugging up. He had a nice mouth and lips. Full and smooth-

Wait, what was I thinking? I mentally shook myself.

"It could be possible," I replied demurely. "You never know. Anyways, I gave you options. Pick one."

He laughs confidently. "I guess I'll go with fear of rejection, then. It seems the least deadly of them all. Although, if I'm being completely honest here, I feel like that's a rather ludicrous and irrational fear for me to have, given my extreme good looks and charm."

I snorted, although what he said was completely true. "Yeah, right. Are you sure that your issue isn't self-absorbtion? If it's not, I'd like to add it to your list of options."

Feigning a bullet wound to the heart, he staggers back against the wall. "Oh! You've just wounded me deeply. I'm hurt."

I giggled. "Sure you are. And I'm the Princess of Wales."

"A debate for another time, then." he sighs, as my heart skips a beat. Another time? He looks over at me intently. "As I recall, though, a certain someone was certainly crying her eyes out when I happened upon her in the school garden. Care to share your issue?" Leaning in intently, his golden eyes locked on mine, intrigued.

I shook myself of his gaze, feeling the pain and hurt of the event crashing back in on me. Great. I had just started to forget about it all, and now it decides to come back, ruining everything. I stuttered unattractively, trying in vain to come up with some lie to excuse my excessive blubbering. I came up dry. "Um..." I muttered. "Well, you know, I just landed this role in this school play, and there's this really emotional scene. I just decided to, you know, practice to make sure that my tears don't come across as fake onstage, you see?" I stumbled, hoping that I had won his trust.

The blond-headed boy nodded intently, seeming just the slightest bit disappointed. "I see. Well, I'll leave you to your practice now...?"

"Clary. Clary Fray."

"Well, Clary Fray, pleased to meet you. And I'm Jace. Jace Herondale."

As he stood up to leave, he left me with a sharp pang in my chest, wishing that he wouldn't. What the heck? I watched him leave, smooth and confident as it seemed he always would be.

In a few moments, after I had collected myself, I followed suit, gliding through the school doors, composed and serene once more. The day raced by, a rustle of papers, pens scratching, and teachers faintly calling somewhere in my mind. Though the whole day, though, my mind kept playing back to a single frame: a single boy with a blond mop of hair, head back and laughing against the school wall.

Jace.

**Alright, thank you so much for reading! If you do, would you please leave a review in the comments box? It would mean so much to me, and would really make my day! (or inspire me to begin writing another chapter) :) All constructive criticism is welcome, as it helps me to become a better writer. Please even tell me if this is good so far, so I know whether to continue. Thanks!**

**-Zoe37**


	3. Questions and Answers

**Alright, readers, so here is the newest chapter to the Unexpected series! Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, for taking a look!**

**Disclaimer: Cassandra Clare is the genius here. She owns The Mortal Instruments and all of its characters. I do not. **

Later that day, I returned home. Exhaling nervously, I paced up the front walk of our house, the steps leading to the porch, and across the slanted wooden boards. The doorknob was ice cold as I laid my hand onto it, pulling. The stubborn door didn't give way, though. Of course, today of all days, my darling mother would lock it. Apparently silent entrances were an absurd request in this house. Cursing under my breath, I took a deep breath and began knocking furiously on the entrance, hitting my fists repeatedly against the wood.

Poor door. It isn't your fault that your mistress refuses to leave you open.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Jocelyn stood in the doorway, flaming auburn hair sticking out as if electrified, clothes splattered with old paint, and face contorted in the confused stare that only the sleep deprived can master. Hazed, she rubbed her eyes, and glared at me, annoyed.

"Clarissa, couldn't you have managed to come in through the _back _door?" she says irritably, enunciating every syllable as if I am a child, and she the condescending teacher.

"Well, if you had left this door open, I wouldn't have had to knock," I reply, frustrated. I continue. "Besides, I carry books, art supplies, textbooks, binders, and whatever with me to and from school. I can't even open the door unless someone else opens it for me. By the way," I add, "you're blocking my path."

"It seems that putting down your things, opening the door, and then picking them up and bringing them inside these days is a preposterous idea."

"Maybe so."

"Clary, I was just sleeping! If you hadn't woken me up, I would have been in my bed, enjoying the rest that I haven't gotten in three days! These art deadlines aren't easy, you know? Do you understand that? Do you understand that it's hard enough for me to cook, to clean, to do my everyday work without having to make money for this family? I don't have to provide you with a roof over your head! I don't have to give you food, and clothing, and the use of my car to go to school! I don't _have _to do anything! And furthermore-"

I burst out before I could stop myself. "Don't take your issues out on me! Mom, everybody works! I know that! It's kind of a fact of life. Every adult has to do it. I know that you work hard, and I never said that I don't appreciate that! Don't you _dare_ accuse me of being ungrateful!"

"I _never _said that-"

"Yes, you did! It's completely untrue, anyways! Who started to pay for their own art classes, because they didn't want to burden you with that? Who pays for their own clothes now? Who got a job so that you wouldn't have to pay for as much, because they don't want to depend on you?"

"But Clary, I still do so much for you! I wash your clothes, I cook your meals, I-"

"You're my _mom. _You're supposed to take care of me. And you'd be a pretty crappy one if you didn't."

I stormed past her, up the stairs into my bedroom, trying desperately to ignore the tears streaming down my face. Flopping onto my bed, I sank my head onto my pillow, where a few stray tears flowed down onto my baby blue sheets. I raised my head up, long enough to smash my fist into the pillow again and again, in some lame attempt to rid myself of the anger, the pain, the guilt. I told myself that I didn't care if my mom was feeling the same thing. What should it matter to me if she also had a tear-stained face, sobbing somewhere else in the house? Say it enough times, until you believe it. It almost became a mantra to me, something I repeated incessantly, clung to, and solemnly vowed that I meant. _I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. _

What had even happened? It shouldn't have even become something so catastrophic, so elevated. We had both just exploded; two time bombs placed too close to each other. This happened almost every time that we were trapped in close quarters for too long. It seemed that we never saw eye to eye. We rarely seemed to be on level ground, or an equal playing field, and even when we were, the peace was strained and tense. We seemed to both know that this couldn't possibly last for long, always eyeing the other as if they held a knife behind their back, ready to stab at the soonest opportunity.

How had we gotten this way? I know that I had certainly been the cause for some of it, but the entirety of the blame could not be placed on me, and I wouldn't take it.

I suppose that I most keenly realized it one cold December day, a few years after my father had left.

"_Mommy, where do I put the angel?" _

_I held up a beautiful clockwork angel to my mother, questioningly. It had been a gift from a family friend, Stephen Herondale, and we had proudly displayed it every Christmas since. Our heavily ornamented tree gleamed merrily in the twinkling lights cleverly strung across the stairwell. Soft carols floated on the air, complimenting the magical holly and ivy we had hung. I stared up with child's eyes, completely entranced in our winter wonderland. _

_My mother, apparently, wasn't. "Oh, anywhere, Clary. Just pick a place." She sighed dejectedly, rubbing her eyes, __and sank down into a kitchen chair, laying her head in her hands._

_Jonathan, being older, seemed the one to pick up on these things. He walked over to Jocelyn carefully, and laid a __hesitant, __gentle hand on her shoulder. "__Are you okay, Mom?" _

"_No, I'm not okay, Jonathan, and I hate pretending that I am!" she snapped, glaring up at him ferociously. We both stared at her, completely in shock. She had never snapped at us before, not like this. What could we have possibly done to upset her? _

_Even at my young age, there was only one thing that I could think of. __I had overheard my grandparents whispering in hushed voices about it. What else could fit?" _

"_Is it because __the valentine's__ gone?" I asked innocently. Wrong choice, Clary. _

_My mother sat up, straight backed and dumbfounded. "Where did you here that?"_

_I happily complied. "Nana and Grandpa were talking about a valentine when we met them at Auntie Jia's for Thanksgiving. Why were they talking about that now, Mommy? It's not Valentine's Day yet." _

_Jocelyn's face had gone sheet white. It looked as if she had been punched in the gut. She spoke slowly, clearly, and suddenly, the room had gone silent. _

"_Please don't say that name again, Clarissa. Don't ever say that name again." _

_Jon's face twisted in confusion. "Why not, Mom?" _

_Jocelyn broke, almost shouting now. "Because I just can't hear it, Jonathan! Because he left me, and I can't bear it, and you look too much like him for comfort! __Please, just go, Jonathan. I'm so sorry, but look too much like him right now. Just leave." _

_She then dropped her head down to the table again, silent sobs racking her body, as Jonathan blindly left the room, sad and confused._

_I walked up to her, timid and suddenly very afraid. "Mommy, why can't Jon stay?" _

"_He just can't, Clary."_

"_But why not?" _

"_I said, he just can't!"_

_I left then, all joyous Christmas feelings immediately trampled. An eerie silence had fallen over the room, and suddenly, the brightly decorated tree didn't seem quite so magical anymore. That Christmas, we spent in complete silence: Jon in isolation, __my mother's head in friendship with the kitchen table, and I in a worried state of confusion. _

_And I just let it happen._

Much tossing and turning finally convinced me that I wasn't going to receive much sleep that night. I finally gave up in the wee hours of the morning, as the sun slowly crept up behind the hills, creating a canvas of startling greys, blues, purples, reds, and oranges that I only wish could be accurately immortalized as paint pigments. I rejoiced when it finally became time to wake up, jumping at the chance to escape my thoughts.

My day went by in mostly the same fashion. Minutes seemed to take whole lifetimes, and my fingers twitched nonstop, a nervous tick that I hadn't yet kicked. Teacher's voices droned on, my face nodding and smiling, while really I was taking in nothing. I couldn't have told you the difference between Leonardo da Vinci and Leonardo de Caprio.

When the bell rang for lunch, inside, I was ecstatically screaming for joy. My mind needed something to occupy it, other than tearful screaming matches and monotonous pop quizzes. First out of the door, I raced to my locker, snagged my lunch, and weaved expertly through the throng of human teenagers crowding the hallways. Finally relaxing, I made my way out to the cafeteria, where to my relief, I spotted my friends, Simon and Isabelle.

"Scoot over," I said to Simon, as I playfully shoved him to make room for me on the bench. I slid in next to him, and across from Izzy.

"Well, hello to you too, Fray," he replied, smiling at me.

"Clary!" Isabelle Lightwood screamed, running around the bench's end to give me a quick hug. "I swear, since school has started, I haven't seen you at all! I can't believe that we only have one class together!"

"I miss you too, Izzy," I said, grinning up at her widely. She was probably one of my best friends, and I loved her. Oh, that reminded me... "Hey, but that might change. Mr. Blackthorn is talking about changing my schedule for second semester. We might have more classes together that way."

We sunk into our regular rhythm, chatting and laughing, until I felt an unfamiliar arm around my shoulders. I completely froze, too shocked at the sensational tingling around my whole upper half. I was completely incapacitated until I caught a single suspicious, and-threatened?- look Simon shot me. I was debating whether or not to casually shrug out of the before-mentioned, and very nameless arm, until I heard a voice that was just beginning to become familiar.

"I mean, I know that a single look from myself can most definitely give a girl a heart attack, but really, I wasn't expecting my presence to elicit this reaction."

I was mortified to find my face burning up quickly, instantaneously red as a tomato. Using a great deal of self control, I struggled to keep my voice steady.

"They say that pride goes before a fall, Jace."

He grinned. "That may very well be true, Miss Fray, but I can make even falling look flawless."

"You're gaining humility by the second."

I heard his laugh ring out, unhindered, and yes, I could admit to myself, flawless. I found myself smiling like an idiot, so happy to have made him laugh. Jace turned to me, a cocky smirk stuck on his perfect face, as if his effect on me humoured him. As if my embarrassment gained him confidence.

He leaned in to me, and I found myself captivated by his deep, amber gold eyes. He appeared to be searching mine, as well. My breath caught in my chest, hope upon hope rising. He was so beautiful, that I wondered why he was even here, with me. That didn't stop the images from flickering through my mind, though: Jace taking me out on a date, holding my hand, and laughing alongside me, his pure gold hair thrown back, perfectly in sync.

"We should go out sometime," he whispered. Just like that, the spell was broken, like a beautiful, painted glass window, shattered into a million tiny pieces.

Why would he want to pick me? I wasn't statuesque, stately, or slender like many of the other girls in my grade. I was pathetically lacking in height, with flyaway red hair that never seemed to stay where I wanted it to. My skin was pale and waxy, and I never seemed to master my walk the way that girls who knew they were beautiful did.

Jace was perfect, and everything that he did seemed to be a game to him. I had observed him before, and I had heard all of the rumours: Jace never held a girl for long, and every new one seemed to be some sort of ridiculous conquest to him. I had seen the girls running teary-eyed, down the hallway to the bathroom, the collateral damage of whatever grand scheme he had concocted. I was just a game to him; just an intriguing puzzle that he felt he had to solve, for the sole purpose of his clean record.

I wouldn't be just a game, a one-night stand, or a booty call, and I would not help to fuel his never-dying desire to conquer women. I just had too much self-respect for that. If Jace truly wanted to date me, which was what he claimed, then he could prove it, although I highly doubted that he would. That was why, though it killed me, I had to answer the way that I did.

I took a deep breath, feeling as though I was making the biggest mistake of my life. "There are plenty of girls out there who would be dying for just that, Jace," I whispered right back. "Go pick one."

I disentangled myself out of his shocked gaze, slid off of the bench, and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving three startled pairs of eyes watching me leave. Somehow, though, I knew that Jace's eyes were staring the hardest, boring holes into the back of my shirt.

**I made this chapter quite a bit longer, so I hope that you enjoyed it! Should I give Jace a POV for this scene? Please tell me in the comments, and thank you so much from the bottom of my heart to anyone who reads this! Imagine me giving you a HUGE smile! :) **

**Please review! Any constructive criticisms are welcome! **

**-Zoe37**


	4. Banter and New Beginnings

**If you're a writer, you know how satisfying it is to post another chapter; to add another leg onto the story in your mind. And if you're a reader, you know how exciting it is to see that new chapter, and to anticipate the next. So, either way, it's a win-win situation. At least I hope it is. **

**Thank you so much for your reviewing. I love and appreciate it!**

**Disclaimer: If my name were Cassandra Clare, I could claim to own the Mortal Instruments and all its characters. But it's not. **

I didn't see Jace again until the last class of the day, English. While I loathed the idea of having to be reminded of what I'd refused, some part of me also buzzed pleasantly upon seeing him. By this point, I had reconciled myself to the fact that I liked him. Sometimes, when I needed to realize the truth of a fact, I repeated it to myself, over and over. I did that now.

_I, Clarissa Adele Fray, like Jace whatever-his-middle-name-is Herondale. I like Jace Herondale. I like Jace. _

For some reason, it wasn't as hard to say now, although I knew that I was probably just one of the many.

I knew that I should be listening to Mr. Blackthorn, who was putting his uniquely monotone voice register to use at the front of the class. He was conveying important information, that would probably be covered on the unit test. My mind kept on flipping over to a certain golden boy, though, currently gazing out of the classroom window. I forced myself to focus. Training my eyes to the marked-up whiteboard, I habitually copied down notes until last bell rung, freeing my from my academic prison.

As I walked out of the classroom, I heard a voice call my name. "Clary!"

I turned around, recognizing Jace's silky smooth tone. Recognizing tension in my stance, I mentally berated myself. Foolish! I shouldn't have to feel nervous around him. I would be friendly. Friendly and cordial.

"'Anything I can do for you?"

His smile faltered, just the tiniest bit. Quickly, though, he replaced it with a shining, signature Jace-like smirk.

"Well..." he began. "To be honest, though I hate to admit it, I'm having a little bit of trouble with a girl."

He was interested in someone else? For a second, I breathed out a huge sigh of relief. Had I made the right choice, then?

Of course, though, he wasn't finished talking.

"I think you know her? Red hair, green eyes, short as a mushroom..."

"A mushroom?" I exclaimed incredulously. "Thanks for the comparison, golden boy."

There it was again, that slow, sinking look that projected itself onto his face. It looked as if he had just been broken up with, punched in the gut, or both. He looked as if he had lost his best friend. Why, though? What could make such a monumental impact on this perfect boy, Jace Herondale? Again, just like the last time, he covered up the emotion in a matter of milliseconds, pasting on a bright, mega-watt smile. I had seen it, though, and I wasn't likely to forget it.

"You can't be grumpy if it's true", he smirked. "Or are you in denial, Clary? You know, it isn't just a river in Egypt."

Without wanting to, I laughed at the cheesy pun. "Ha ha, very funny, Jace," I said. "And I'm sorry, but I have to go now. I actually do have to get home at some point, you know."

At some point in our short conversation, I had stopped walking and just stood in the middle of the hall with him. The jostling crowds of high-schoolers had thankfully dispersed, leaving us alone save for a few stragglers. I began to walk quickly away from him, desperately trying to feign nonchalance. Apparently he wasn't letting me go, though. Jace began walking with me, his longs legs easily matching my pace. He was a leech, this one. I mentally cursed tall people and the grace with which they conducted themselves. Why wouldn't he just let me walk away?

"Well, I happen to know that you have a gaping lack of extracurricular activities you participate in," he said as we paced together down the hallway, and out of the gleaming metal doors.

"That's certainly not the way to convince a girl that you're not a stalker or a creep," I said, and was instantly rewarded with a burst of laughter from the boy at my side. I decided that I liked his laugh. It sounded musical, as if a composer had penned out every note to be more joyous than the last. His laugh was vibrant, beautiful, and full of life. _He _was full of life.

"What can I do to convince you that I'm not?" he said, amusement in his voice.

"Well, you could always recite a solemn vow."

"With the long dark cloak, scroll, and everything?"

"The whole shebang."

"Only if the cloak will suit my complexion." Jace strikes a ridiculous pose, which cracks me up, and soon sends him into smiles as well.

"You'd look good in anything." The words slip out before I can stop them, and immediately my hand flies out to cover my mouth. It's too late, though. The damage is done.

I see hope light in Jace's eyes. _Oh, no_, I think. I didn't want him to suspect that I like him, and I certainly didn't want him to know it. It was better when he thought that I didn't care earlier today: at least then, he wouldn't ask questions.

"Why won't you go out with me, Clary?" But there it is, unbidden and unwanted. It comes out like the nightmare it is. I know that once I start talking, the words will flow out of me faster than I can stop them. Try as I might to not care, I still don't want to hurt him, and I'm afraid that these words I'm thinking will.

"Clary, I deserve to at least know. The first girl in history to turn me down has to have a reason," he says playfully, tugging at my arm. He speaks the words teasingly, but underneath them lies a current of real, true longing. Unfortunately, that is all that it takes for me to start.

"Jace, you're a player," I blurt out. You don't care for any of the girls that you date, and frankly, I don't respect that. You may have had a lot of experience or whatever, but I haven't. Do you really think that when I'm asked out, I want it to be all for the sake of a spotless record? How does that show me that you care at all?"

I saw his face change like a colour spectrum, from hurt, to disbelief, to indignation. "Clary, I swear, it's not like that-"

I didn't want to hear it, though. "Haven't you said that a million times before?"

"Well, yes, but not like this, not to you-"

"Do you think that I haven't seen all of the girls running down the hallways with tears streaming down their faces? I've seen all of the people that you hurt, Jace."

"I know, Clary! I've done stuff in the past, okay? But that's not what I want to do now!"

"Well, unfortunately, Jace, since I don't even know you that well, the past is all that I have to judge you by, and I don't like what I see. In the real world, you're judged by your actions, and how you treat the people around you. That's what I've always done. If I date you, I feel like I'll be the one left with a broken heart, and right now, I really don't think that I can deal with that. There are too many "if's" with you. It doesn't mean that you can't change. I believe that you can. You just haven't done anything to show me that you're serious."

I took a deep breath, almost out of air from the long speech that had proceeded me. For the second time today, I felt like I had made a complete idiot of myself. I looked down at my shoes to hide my flaming cheeks. I felt stupid and childish, like a little girl ignorantly preaching her moral beliefs to the experienced, tattooed biker on her way to church. Still, somehow I knew that I was right. I couldn't deal with a boyfriend right now, especially not a boyfriend like Jace.

I looked up, and to my surprise, Jace's face was shockingly open, and free from its usual snark. I looked up at him, confused.

"You haven't even given me a chance, Clary."

"Like you gave all of those other girls a chance?"

He shifted uneasily. "Fair point. I won't debate that. I still want you to give me a chance, though. And Clary," he grinned, "who can resist this gorgeous face?"

I sighed. "Me, apparently."

He pondered this for a moment, and then his face lit up. "Is it the shirt?", he asked, pointing down at his plain blue tee. "It has to be the shirt, because otherwise, I'm stumped."

"Maybe it has to do with the fact that you just met me yesterday."

"You're not a believer in love at first sight?"

"No, I'm not."

Jace clucked his tongue at me annoyingly. "Many kids who believe in fairy tales are crying all over the world right now, because of you. I just wanted you to know that."

"You're crazy."

"And you're a crusher of children's dreams", he counters. "So I guess we're even."

He quieted down, deliberating on his mind. Finally, he looked up at me and spoke. "What would you say to being friends?"

Fidgeting, I physically forced myself to stay calm, even though inside, my heart was racing and leaping for joy.

"Now now now, what is this?" I teased. "The great Jace Herondale, offering mere friendship to a person of the female gender? How did this come about?"

He smiled. "Maybe it took someone really special."

Suddenly, my heart warmed toward him. He honestly was trying to be kind to me, and he was even meeting me where I was comfortable! Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this boy than I realized.

I smiled right back at him, as a silent "thank you". I laughed randomly, feeling lighter and happier than I had in a long time. Jace turned toward me, confused.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Nothing", I replied. "It's just that now that we're friends, I'm going to have to start being nicer to you."

"I'm am seriously looking forward to that."

We walked out of the doors of the school together, this time with an easiness between us, like some great pressure had been lifted away. Jace offered to take my books from me, but the piercing glare that I sent him was enough to scare even the most fearsome giant. He laughed, and immediately enamoured himself with the designs I had drawn onto my binder. It went on that way, him bugging me like an annoying but lovable older brother, and I pretending to be disgusted with the way he conducted himself. Secretly, though, I was laughing, and if there was a part of me that protested with being treated like his sibling, then I furiously pushed it down.

We finally reached the parking lot, and Jace lead me to his ride. Though I had never prided myself on knowing a lot about cars, even I could tell that it was something to be jealous of. It was a well kept, old vintage car; a beautiful shade of baby blue. I longed to take a ride in it, though surely this wasn't why I was standing at his car. Right?

Jace looked over at me jubilantly. "Every new friendship deserves to be celebrated,"he claimed. "Let me take you to my favourite place to eat. My treat."

I considered this for a moment. Unfortunately, I did have to drive Jonathan to his league soccer game tonight, because the broken bag of bones he called a car was in for repair, again. Surely I could fit a bite to eat in, though? After all, new friendships didn't come every day.

I beamed at Jace, excited. "Let's go."

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please review if you possibly can, it means the world to me to know what you guys think! **

**-Zoe37 :)**


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